Swordsmith
by White Butterfly
Summary: Swordsmith Totosai completes a sword, showing his skill and begins on a new pair of swords requested by a mighty lord. He's an old man but is there more to his forgetful countenance?


A little piece written in boredom. Read and review if you wish.

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The heat seeps from the very ground, the rocks, even the air gives the feeling of giving off heat. The minerals in the heated ground give off noxious fumes, leaving green, yellow, red residue as their fumes rise and settle across the ground, swirling together. Rumbles and growlings erupt from all around, the ground bursting open and boiling over, incinerating any organic matter that it embraces.  
Soon these sounds fade into the background as they assume the familiarity of blood pumping through your ears. Above these sounds another sound is heard, a regular banging and pausing. It comes from the distance, further into this hellish place of fire and smoke.  
A cave rises low in the distance, it's mouth magnifying the sounds of pounding and beating. It comes in bursts, bang bang bang, a moment of silence and then it continues, bang bang bang. Also from the mouth of the cave is bursts of heat, coming at the start of the bangs, as if this burst of heat is connected to the rhythm of banging.

The old man pounds at the metal he is working. The sheen of one metal darker against the other, striations of dark and light, like marks made by the passing of time on trees, stone, humans. He finishes pounding it and then blows on it, flame streaming from his mouth, heating the metal until it glows a cold yellow that betrays it's heat. It is obvious that he is not a frail old man as he pounds the metal, folding it over, doubling the striations as he hits it with his long handled hammer and grips the metal with his free bare hand. His ragged sleeves fall from his scrawny, wiry arms, ragged from age not from wear and scorching.  
He wipes his forehead as he stops folding the metal over, his eyes assessing how to shape this metal which has a strange sheen to it as if thin parallel lines run through it. He makes it glow white and then shapes it till it's long and thin, straight as an arrow if not for the tip's slight bend upwards. He nods as he dunks it in water, steam rising from the trough. A layer of scummy black metal now coats it but he brushes it off showing the lightly gleaming blade.  
It looks like a crude metal bar shaped almost carelessly but he can see what lies within it, what it will become with a bit of care and handling. He evaluates it before he gently heats and taps at it, gently shaping it and taking time before each blow with the hammer. The lump of metal is transformed slowly from something with no form and grace to one with elegance and subtlety.  
He taps it one last time making it ring, sending it's song through the cave. A rag and a bowl of paste are used to polish it, making it glimmer with a life of it's own. A final polish with a clean rag that is then dipped in oil.  
He smiles and slips a disc over one end. It stops a little way up and he slips it off and hammers it lightly changing it's shape and then picks up a small tool and starts cutting into the metal, occasionally heating it. A delicate pattern slowly appears and he finishes, rubbing it with a rag, polishing it before sliding it over the finished blade.  
He stands and stretches, walking to a corner of the cave and picking up a coil of pale wrapping. He winds it carefully around the handle, wrapping it in and out, forming diagonal lines over what is already wrapped. He finishes at the end, securing what's left of the wrapping with a tuck.  
One final touch is needed. He rummages on a stone shelf, he turns up a metal cap. It fits loosely and he fiddles with it, getting some pliers and touching just a bit of flame to it. It fits snugly and he has to push down using his hand and then lightly uses the hammer. A touch of polishing and he holds the finished sword up. It glints in the shadowy cave, reflecting what little light there is and adding a bit of its own with each reflection off the walls and it shines brightly, showing him his face in it's strangely shining metal. The almost bald reflection smiles, it's white top-knot poking over the bald dome. The man strikes it with the hammer and this time it doesn't sing but a strange thrum runs through the air in it's place.

"I see that yet again you've made a blade in perfect balance, Master swordsmith Totosai."  
The old man looks up, startled by this sudden apparition.  
"Lord. I was not aware you were due to visit." He lowers his hammer.  
"Please do not let me not interfere with your final adjustments." The lord nods at him to continue and settles himself out of the way.  
The old man, Totosai, continues gently hitting the blade and each time the thrum runs through the air. He then slices the air with the blade, hearing it whip through the air, the sound as sharp as the blade. He knows how to swing it to see what it's nature is now that it's forged but he is no swordsman and stops after he finds out what he wants.  
"You are right my lord, yet another blade in perfect balance. And suited for it's purpose too, now all it needs is it's name. _Fuyu-no-iki. _Breath of Autumn, for this is not meant for killing though it will be and it will then be the downfall of the person who wields it." His eyes narrowed and he tapped it against the ground. It sang this time, a long, low, sorrowful note.

"Now, what are you here for?" Totosai wrapped the sword in a cloth and set it on a shelf.  
"You don't remember? I told you last time I was here!" A hint of exasperation seeps into the lords voice as he enters further into the cave, the murky light managing to reflect off his silver-like hair.  
"Huh? I don't recall you mentioning anything last time. Was it something about trees?" He scratches his head at the lord who sighs at him.  
"The swords for my two sons. One for the older who is cold hearted and a merciless killer even at this age, and one for my younger, the one who will strive for power but will have a heart."  
"Ah yes, the ones for the killer and the one with the heart. I've been thinking about it. _Tenseiga_ and _Tetsusaiga. _One for bringing a hundred to life in one sweep and one for killing a hundred in one sweep."  
"Which one do you mean for each to have?" The lords asks, slightly confused about which one will be best suited for his sons, one existing only in the future, not even conceived.  
The swordsmith ignores his question. "Open wide, I need to work with material from you to do this sword magic." He grabs his pliers and angles himself in front of the lords mouth. "They'll be finished in time to protect those you love. Plenty of time."  
A tremendous howl emanates from the cave as he pulls the fangs of the lord. He holds a pad to his mouth as the swordsmith rinses the mighty teeth. "Chew this." He tosses a small bundle of dried plants to the lord sitting on the ground. His face darkens at the bitter taste but withdraws the pad with the mushed up herbs once he feels their effect.  
"So which will I leave to my eldest?" His words are slightly thickened from the missing teeth.  
Again the swordsmith doesn't answer the question. "You are wishing to wield these swords these swords until you pass them on?"  
"That is correct." The swordsmith bends down and observes his face, something very few are allowed the honour to do. He stands up and places the two teeth on the anvil, observing them and with his back to the great lord he replies,  
"You want your sons to be the best they can be. To be as honourable and as powerful as you are but only able to wield one of these swords. Your heart and head will give you the right answer. Now scram! I need space to work in!" He turned round and flung his hands at him.  
"When shall I come to collect them?" He was shooed out to the entrance of the cave.  
"When you understand what I mean by head AND heart. Now shoo! I need my space."

Totosai watched the lord walk out of this hellish place, a smile growing on his face. He would come back in two days, enough time for him to forge the two swords with all the magic he wanted. It would take him a couple of days to figure out what he had said. He headed back inside to start his forging.

_"You want your sons to be the best they can be. To be as honourable and as powerful as you are but only able to wield one of these swords. Your human heart and demon head will give you the right answer."_

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End file.
